


Leader of the Landslide

by DoubleL27



Series: A Hazy Shade of Stevie [5]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mother Complex, Patterns, Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn, past trauma, stevie budd deserves nice things, twyla is the sweetest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 06:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21796024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleL27/pseuds/DoubleL27
Summary: She left, she left,The writing’s on the wallPlease believe meI smell the alcoholorStevie doesn't usually celebrate her mother's birthday in the style that Donna would approve of, but sometimes, when there's nowhere else to go, she slips a little.  Twyla sometimes catches her.
Relationships: Stevie Budd/Twyla Sands
Series: A Hazy Shade of Stevie [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1569649
Comments: 16
Kudos: 34
Collections: Schitt's Creek Open Fic Night 2.0





	Leader of the Landslide

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta [Redacted] for their initial read through and comments. They helped me to see this chapter in a new light and I rewrote it at zero hour, so all mistakes are fully.
> 
> This segment has a lot going on in it. There's a lot of feelings and hurt and this fic is tagged to the best of my ability, so please keep yourself safe. It's a bit of catharsis for the characters and for me here.

“Another round!” Stevie shouted as she slammed the glass on the counter. The cheap whiskey from behind the bar still burned in her throat. The cafe didn’t have shot glasses so she was drinking them out of a regular water glass. 

It didn’t matter. She just needed another. 

“No,” Twyla told her, wide-eyed and solemn faced. “I don’t think you will have another.”

“Twyla, I want another round.”

There was no smile on Twyla’s perpetually cheery face. It wasn’t right. She just stood there, her eyes as round as owls and deeply sad, wiping out glasses and carefully arranging them on the mat under the counter. “I think you’ve had enough.”

“I can take my money elsewhere.” 

The threat received no reaction, not even a blink. Concern seemed to be giving way to pity on Twyla’s face. It felt like pity. Stevie was overflowing with it for herself. It flowed out from inside her chest and settled in her limbs making them heavy and useless. 

“Stevie, are you alone tonight?”

Stevie looked to her left and to her right in an exaggerated motion and then shrugged at Twyla. “You see anybody else?”

The glass Twyla was currently drying had been wiped clean ages ago and she hadn’t set it down. Stevie watched as Twyla kept fidgeting with the glass, never moving those big sad eyes off of herself. “I just figured you’d spend tonight with the Roses.”

“They’re all doing couple stuff tonight, or couples planning a wedding stuff.”

“It’s just...you haven’t been in, like this, since the Roses came to town and I thought...” Twyla continued, her voice halting every few words as she struggled to get her thoughts out. 

“No.” Stevie suddenly felt her throat start to close and her eyes burn. She just wanted another drink. She didn’t want to open herself up like this Twyla or anyone else. Stevie certainly didn’t want to feel the loneliness that had plagued her all day. “I tried to stay at the front desk but Mr. Rose kicked me out. ‘No reason for a pretty young lady to be trapped behind the desk on a Friday night. Mrs. Rose will come down shortly.’”

“Stevie,” Twyla’s hand reached across the bar and covered Stevie’s. “You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

Stevie felt her hand burn and pulled it out from under Twyla’s. The imprint of it stayed warm on her skin. “What am I supposed to say? I want you to cancel your plans with your person to spend time with me. Or, I could just ask to be a third wheel. That doesn’t look desperate.”

The truth was she felt desperate. The feeling was gnawing at her insides, eating her alive. There were times that she didn’t look in the mirror and see her aunt. Those times, the worst times, she saw her mother staring back at her. 

Twyla, however, had gone softer in the past few moments. Her mouth was lifted in that little half-smile that always twisted Stevie’s stupid heart. “You could just say, ‘Hey, it’s my mom’s birthday and I don’t know where she is. I haven’t seen her since I was in high school. I shouldn’t be alone tonight.’”

“Well, that’s stupid,” Stevie muttered, moving her glass around in concentric circles on the formica top, focusing on the movment instead of the burning sensation the idea of opening herself up like that caused.

“No. It’s reaching out to your family for help.”

“I am all that’s left of my family.”

“Stevie, you’ve been a Rose for years now.”

“I didn’t ask for a lecture,” Stevie snapped, looking up at Twyla again. She didn’t want to look at those stupid doe eyes or the sad smile or to feel the things she felt when Twyla looked at her like that. “I asked for another drink.”

“Stevie, I can't serve you another. Five shots in an hour is enough.”

“I don’t need this.” Stevie could hear herself slurring but couldn’t bring herself to care. She slid off the stool and stumbled. “I don’t need you.”

“Stevie.” Twyla said softly. Stevie jammed her hands into her sleeves, knowing full well if she didn’t leave Twyla would bundle her into a booth and be comforting and Stevie didn’t want any of that. “I just have another hour before I close up. Why don’t you sit in a booth and I’ll bring you a coffee and some pie?”

“No. I told you. Other places will take my money.”

With that, Stevie stumbled her way toward the door, speeding up past the few diners that were probably staring at her. She was drunk and a mess, and she couldn’t find it in herself to stop the cycle. She needed to find another drink to wash away the loathing that was bubbling up from her stomach and the feeling of Twyla’s eyes on her back. She knew the redhead was watching her as she made her way out of the restaurant and into the chilly March night.

Wind whipped against her face, blowing her back towards the door. The world was trying to tell her something, but Stevie was a Budd, and Budds were terrible at listening to anything anyone had to say. The world seemed to tilt five steps from Cafe Tropical as her feet slid out from under her. Stevie closed her eyes and braced for impact.

It never came. Instead, strong but nimble fingers had wrapped themselves around her shoulders and kept her from toppling over. Stevie tilted her head to see Twyla standing there, right beside her, her mouth pressed into a firm thin line with no lips to speak of. Sage green eyes stared at her and Stevie needed a minute to realize that fear was the dominant emotion flowing from them. 

Stevie shut her own eyes against the feelings emanating from Twyla and herself. Everything felt like a jumbled mess inside. A deep breath in through her nose brought icy air rushing through her like knives and helped cut away some of the feelings that were swamping her. Stevie forced her eyes open and looked back at the woman holding her up, floral blouse flapping in the wind like a spring flag put up far too early. 

“What the fuck, Twy, you’re not even wearing a coat. You should be inside.”

Twyla just stared at her for a moment like Stevie was the crazy one. Fingers pressed tight against her shoulders, through the down layers of her jacket. “You’re not okay, Stevie and I am not going to just let you go off and--” Twyla’s voice broke and Stevie felt the sound like a knife to her own chest. “You mean too much to me for me to let you.”

“I--” The words wouldn’t come. Instead, tears that she had been holding back all day, for years, really, welled up and overflowed, streaming from her cheeks in hot rivers. The salt and warmth burned against her cold face and she couldn’t 

Stevie found herself bundled into the taller woman’s side, underneath her arm, like a damn duckling. It was so easy to just let go and be swept along as Stevie was turned back around and brought back through the doors of the Cafe. She turned her head so her face practically buried into Twyla’s arm. Bad enough she had made the original spectacle of herself in a public place, but now she was being dragged back inside. The whispers that would be thrown around about her being just like her mother haunted her.

Twyla noticed nothing, striding through the Cafe with long legs and making Stevie shuffle a little faster to keep up. Her feet got tangled for a moment, and she stumbled. Twyla just stopped, her strong arm still tight on Stevie’s side. 

Eventually, Twyla was guiding her into a booth, and Stevie slid along the old pleather fabric that was fraying at the joints. Twyla slid in beside her, keeping Stevie tucked away from the rest of the cafe. A sob hitched out of her mouth, surprising her. Stevie bit the inside of her own lip, drawing a metallic taste into her mouth while the arm around her began to shift. Twyla’s capable hand moved to make sweeping circles on Stevie’s back, something someone would do to comfort their child.

That thought, the thought that her own mother should have been the type of person to perform this level of comfort to her, and yet Stevie couldn’t remember a time that she had, pulled another sob from Stevie’s body. Stevie wrapped her arms around Twyla and buried her face in Twyla’s neck and held on for dear life as everything came out in a torrent of tears. The gentle circles continued. 

The clink of sturdy tableware hitting the plastic tabletop startled Stevie but she just tried burrowing deeper into Twyla’s side. George’s rough voice said, “Here you go, girly.”

Stevie felt Twyla’s arms start to slide away. Stevie pulled her own arms back, covering her face with her hands. She did not want to see anyone or to have anyone see her like this. As much as she wanted Twyla to stay, to be her rock and her shield from the rest of the cafe, it wasn’t fair. Stevie collapsed in on herself, hunching over, and giving Twyla the space to move away. 

The presence at her side shifted, but didn’t leave before George continued, “No, no, you just sit tight. Not like we got a lot of business on a random Tuesday. You just stay. I can clean up.”

They sat in silence and stillness, the noises of other diners continuing on around them. The clinking of glasses and silverware against plates. Being in public was awful. She should have gone home. This had been a bad idea. Stevie hadn’t wanted to be alone, though, or a third wheel and there had been nowhere else to go. 

_ 1, 2, 3, 4 _ Stevie counted as she breathed in deeply through her nose. Stevie screwed her eyes tighter as she paused her breath before letting it go.  _ 1, 2, 3, 4 _ she counted as she exhaled. She tried that three more times before she felt calm enough to speak. 

“You don’t have to stay with me,” Stevie moaned through her hands.

“I don’t have to. I want to.”

Twyla’s hand came to pull at one of Stevie’s own and carefully peeled it away from her face. Twyla didn’t let it go, but laced their fingers together like they were meant to be like that. Stevie opened her left eye to look at Twyla, but Twyla’s eyes were on their hands, pressed tight together. “You know, just because your mother went careening over the edge of that cliff, doesn’t mean you have to as well.”

“I--” 

Stevie wanted to protest that she wasn’t, that she couldn’t, but that’s what it all felt like. She kept trying to escape the gravitational pull of the black hole of her childhood, but somehow the ground she stood on remained shaky and uneven. Christmas was always a day that loomed ominous, and so was her own birthday but Stevie always felt prepared for those. Donna Budd’s birthday, however, always crept up on her like a tiger stalking its prey. Everything would be fine until someone would mention the date and there would be a yawning black hole, reaching out to suck her in. 

The craziest part was she hadn’t lived with her mother since high school, officially living with Nana Budd from there on out. She hadn’t seen her in almost ten years. There was no reason for a Donna-shaped black hole to reach out to try and swallow her whole. The past few years she had pulled an extra shift at the motel or hung out with David. 

“I don’t want to.”

Twyla’s hand squeezed Stevie’s and comfort and warmth flowed from Twyla, up Stevie’s arm and settled somewhere around her heart. “I know. Mutt was like this close” Twyla held up her left thumb and forefinger so there was barely enough space to slide a piece of paper between them, “to being the type of guy my mom would get with.”

Stevie let out a laugh that was still too wet for her liking. “Mutt was on probation went on a pine cone picking trip with the girl he dated after Alexis and made alcohol out of it. He was exactly the type of guy your mom would have gotten with.”

“I know. I’ve gone out a few times with people since then, but you know, the whole Mutt thing really threw me for a loop. He was out doing community service and flirting with Alexis and I mean, all I needed was a kid at home and I would be Teresa Sands.”

“You will never be your mother,” Stevie told her, fiercely. 

Twyla was the furthest thing from Teresa that a person could be. Twyla was sunshine and smiles and a summer day. Twyla was, somehow, incredibly optimistic despite every shitty thing that had ever happened to them growing up. Stevie envied her ability to remain untouched by the darkness when Stevie. 

Twyla’s left hand crept over to cup Stevie’s hand, so that her whole hand was enveloped entirely by Twyla. . “I know that. And at the end of the day, you will never be Donna Budd, not really. Stevie, you have so much going for you, and so many people who love you. Lean on us.”

“She never knew how to do that. Let others in.”

Silence stretched between them, but it was comforting. Stevie still remembered entire days that she and Twyla had sat in mostly silence, reading or making things, sharing small bits of conversation and laughter. Mostly, though, they had been each other’s calm in the storm that their childhoods had been. They were each other’s constant. Stevie adored David but she had missed this. 

“I hate that I miss her. She hasn’t called at all this year. Usually, she calls, at least once. I don’t answer and she leaves some rambling voice message that ends in yelling and threats but then I know she’s alive. I don’t...I don’t know if she’s alive or dead or--”

“I’m so sorry.”

Usually, when people said that phrase, it sounded hollow. Words were spoken into the universe to make the speaker feel like they had done something. When Twyla said them, you felt that she meant them with her whole soul. The short sentence wrapped itself around her heart and gave Stevie the strength to keep speaking. 

Her hand was still pressed in between both of Twyla’s, and it was

“I almost wish she was dead, and I knew, so I wouldn’t have to wonder anymore. She’s like this--” Stevie wracked her brain for the word she wanted, “parasite that is still sucking my blood, despite her absence. It would be easier.”

“But I still fucking love her, despite everything. I don’t want her to come home, not anymore, but I just want--I do want her to be okay.”

“Of course you do. Stevie, you’ve always loved so hard and so deep.”

Stevie rolled her eyes, which was trickier than she would have liked with unshed tears. “Lucky me,” she said with a watery voice.

“You are incredibly lucky. I am even luckier because I know  _ you _ .”

Twyla lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to Stevie’s exposed fingers. Stevie felt her brain short-circuit as Twyla just smiled a soft smile and then let go with her left hand, leaving the top of Stevie’s exposed and her heart strangely bereft. Before she could open her mouth to say anything, Twyla was using that free hand to push the plate of assorted pie Stevie’s way, scraping along the table. “Come on, eat something. The pies are good today.”

Stevie just stared at Twyla for a beat before turning to look at the pies. There was what appeared to be an apple and a raspberry slice, Stevie’s personal favorite. She gave a swift nod, and a deep breath out that, if David were here, he would have matched. “Okay.” 

Picking up the fork, Stevie expected Twyla to drop her hand and remove herself from the booth to go back to the rest of her shift. Twyla stayed. Her hand remained tangled with Stevie’s, warm and steady. Gratitude swamped Stevie. 

Stevie didn’t need two hands to eat. She gave Twyla’s hand a squeeze as she lifted their joined hands to sit in her lap. Without really thinking about it, she leaned her side into Twyla’s removing any space between them. Warmth leached through her jacked and into her side. Stevie felt herself moving away from the prespice she had been teetering on, and peace began to wrap itself inside her.


End file.
